


Helping Hands

by chuplayswithfire



Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Fluff, Gen, Other, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:31:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2551004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuplayswithfire/pseuds/chuplayswithfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metalbeard finds Good Cop Bad Cop in the aftermath of the final battle, and helps them out. LEGO Monsterverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hands

The battle’s been won, Business is defeated - defeated for good this time, the Kragle trapping him in his tiny, insignificant human form.

Alright, maybe he was only tiny to them because they towered over everyone and everything. Whatever, Business /still/ looked like a tiny pipsqueak. Metalbeard shakes their head, looking around for - for what? Something to do, maybe? With the fighting over, the humans back in their world and the monsters in their own, and well, if they’d left little gaps, if the lot of them were making plans to reopen those portals so the two worlds could be connected again, no one had to know that yet.

A soft whimper broke into their thoughts, had them halting in place, head cocked back, peering about. Above land, their eyesight wasn’t the greatest, but hearing - their hearing was damn impressive, even on land.

Another whimper sounded, and now that they were listening for it, the voice was familiar, recognizable as the Cops. They started for it, head lowering to better catch the sound, listening for the high pitched whimpers of pain, now and then catching the softer, lower pitch of Bad Cop trying to be comforting. After a few moments, scent entered as well - blood, and lots of it, the smell of sickness mixing with the iron tang and the scrunched their nose. Now, they were even more worried - Bad Cop had seemed fine during the fighting, had managed to take out plenty of Business’ brainwashed goons, and he hadn’t been injured then, let alone - sick, and this scent - the sickness was deep, at least a few days old. Nothing new, nothing that could be explained by this battle.

Getting closer now, close enough to hear the words Bad Cop was rasping, and they extended the metallic hand, scraping it across debris to give him a warning of their approach.

"Hold on G, hold on - someone’s coming, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry, no one will hurt you -"

A frisson of fear - Good Cop was injured? Sick? He was the one they hadn’t seen - they flashed back over the fighting, gut clenching as they realized no, they didn;t remember a word from Good Cop in the final fight, and that was rare for the ever talkative, ever hungry being. What could have happened to get him down?

“‘s me lad,” they call, and keep walking. The sound of feet scrabbling greets them, feet scrabbling, bodies moving, the fast thump-thump of a fearful heart, the strange doubling sound as Good Cop and Bad Cop breathed, one body and yet two inhales, two exhales.

"What do you want?" Bad Cop again, and Good Cop still hasn’t spoken aside from that whimpering.

"To find out what be makin’ yer brother whimper like the dyin’ Bad Cop," they say calmly, honestly, looking down at him as they approached. The cop was standing, posture defensive, nervous, and behind him, laid across a broad rock were supplies of the medical variety, gauze and bandages, disinfectants. Blood was pooled, the source of the strong strong scent of it.

"I- we’re fine -" Bad Cop started, cut off by another, louder whimper. He flinched, and they raised a brow.

"Wanna try tha’ again?"

He bit his lip, teeth rubbing across it, and they felt a bit of frustration build - tell me already kid -

"Good is hurt. I can’t reach enough to help him."  


“Course ye can’t, he’s on the back of yer head,” Metalbeard points out dryly, before the words actually catch up to them. Good, hurt - obvious, they’d known that from the whimpering, the voice that was too high, too soft to be Bad Cop’s. Confirmation still makes them feel sick to their stomach, sets their fangs to grinding against each other.

Their lure flared bright with their temper - there’s only one person who could have hurt Good Cop and it wasn’t one of them - before they clamped down on it and made the thing behave. “Lemme see ‘im. Just cause ye can’t reach ‘im doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Bad Cop’s eyes widened - he had cute green eyes, without the ever present shades blocking them, but he nodded, one sharp jerk. “Be careful with him.”

He turns his head before they can make a cutting comment, and it’s probably for the best, because they don’t need to be picking fights, not when - whoa whoa whoa whoa. Thoughts screech to a halt as they see Good Cop. He’s been beat to a pulp, the planes of his face bruised, burns - /burns/ visible along his skin, hidden in the shelter of Bad Cop’s hair, one eye completely swollen shut, the other liberally surrounded by bruises. The worst by far is his mouth, where broken and damaged teeth out number the healthy ones.

They hiss, a long sound of pure sympathy, seeing the damage and they can feel their gills rustle in anger, a sudden wish that they’d punched Business harder, torn out more of his shape-shifting flesh, shattered more bones, anything to make sure this - this damage was avenged. But it’s too late now and vengeance, violence, won’t make Good Cop better.

He’s watching them, single open eye looking frightened but almost resignedly at them.

They offer him the most gentle, caring expression they can, what with the fangs, the scales, and glowing lure.

"Hey pal," they murmur, “‘m gonna try and fix yer mouth up a bit, okay? I can see yer new teeth are already startin’ to grow."

It’s true - the white-white nubs of new teeth are forming, and when it comes it will hurt like hell if these old, damaged teeth aren’t out of the way when they’re ready to really get growing. They can sympathize - their teeth constantly replace themselves, and it wasn’t much that hurt more than feeling new teeth forcing out old ones.

"Mmmm," Good Cop murmured, little tendrils reaching out from his battered body to curl loosely in the air.

They nod, and reach around them for the bandages, and some pliers. The easiest things to take care of will be the burns - a bit awkward, yeah, but only because of the hair surrounding Good Cop. A bit of disinfectant for the burns earns them another whimper, and they stroke his face, his lips, delicately as they start reaching for the ointments that would help the wounds sting less.

"Babe, trust me," they murmur after yet another flinch when the ointment touched his brother. “‘m not gonna hurt ye, okay , just gotta get these teeth out and well, that’ll sting I bet."

Good Cop nodded, softly.

"Good. Open your mouth, ok?"

They grabbed the gauze and a pair of tweezers. Well damn.  
This was going to hurt.

"Hold on to the ground, a rock, somethin’, okay? This is gonna hurt love, but only fer a minute."

Then they reach into his mouth, grasp a broken fang, and with a good firm pull, yank it out. Good Cop howls and blood spurts, form his mouth, from their hand as he clamps down, bites, and Bad Cop is flinching, yelling, “Good Cop no, no - don’t hurt him, it was an accident, Good Cop let go!”

Good Cop’s closed his jaws around their hand, and they’re lucky. Lucky because it’s the prosthetic hand, the metal hand, and not the flesh. The fingers squirm, and they look down at him, stroke the top of his head with their free hand.

"Now that was a lovely bite, laddie. I know that hurt, but yer doin’ fine. Just lemme have me hand back, please babe?"

Good Cop loosens his grip reluctantly, whimpering and they reach out to pet him as they observe the damage. Dents, scrapes in the metal, nothing permanent, nothing they can’t fix. Good Cop flinches though, and they can’t help but worry.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to - “

"Don’t be sorry, love. That had to hurt like hell, and ye reacted. Lemme take care of ye, okay? You can bite as much as ye need - I think ‘mma have to pull out a good bit more of ‘em."


End file.
